If I am on my own for a while, I have a tendency to eat too fast, and in order to avoid that I read, and re-read, magazines at meal times. Recently I went back to an issue of that beautifully presented and illustrated one, PYRENEES Magazine; this was the issue from November/December 2017. There was, as ever, a lot in it of interest, including the information that the Corbières and Fenouillèdes (areas we explore quite a lot) will, in 2019, become a new Parc Naturel Régional. There was also an article entitled: OURS: les enjeux du conflit. (BEAR: what is at stake in the conflict). If anyone is seriously interested in the topic, I do recommend, of course, that they refer to the magazine, as I do not propose to precis it here, merely to pick up a couple of points.

The topic of the bear within the Pyrenees is, of course, of general interest; it is of some particular interest to Martine and me, as we make regular sorties further west in the Pyrenees, and it is precisely that area, the Ariege, which is the focus of the said conflict. But, interestingly, one bear has apparently been located in our area, that of the PO. The population of Slovenian bears, introduced in 1996/7 and 2006, now officially numbers 39, although some of those are on the Spanish side of the mountains.

According to my reading of the article, the brown bear is, in Europe, a protected species, and where it has been made extinct (I have no idea within what period of time), there is an obligation to reintroduce it, hence the programme of releases referred to above. Nobody denies, I think, that those bears do, and will, take sheep in particular, although I presume that goats, foals and calves must also be at risk. There is in place a system of compensation, and I do not read that there are any particular problems with it, either in the scale, or the rapidity (so often a problem with such schemes) of payment. The trouble last year seems to have begun after 209 sheep died after jumping over a cliff, panicked by a bear. And the fundamental question seems to be: to what level will this population of brown bears be allowed to grow, and what effect will this have?

In all honesty, these are pretty fair questions, of the sort that, in Britain, we should be asking the proponents of the introductions of the lynx or wolf. There is no doubt, to someone interested in the natural world, that there is a great, if simple, attraction in the idea of restoring missing species to the landscapes they once inhabited. In Britain, the ospreys did it themselves, but we have successfully reintroduced the red kite and sea eagle, among the predators, and there are projects to do the same with bustards and cranes. It all sounds very attractive; but, for instance, the reintroduction of the sea eagle has not been without similar problems of compensation required when lambs have been taken. Those introductions are, obviously, of birds; the problems become significantly greater when you are talking of mammalian predators that are capable of taking larger prey.

And at this point, there is a compelling need, I think, to ask three questions: why exactly are you reintroducing these creatures? How many of them should there be? And what will the impact of those numbers be on the likely prey species (which always include farm animals)? While it may seem quite simple to answer the first, the rest are far more tricky, and, to be honest, often ignored by their proponents. If the answer to the first is that you are reintroducing bear, or lynx, or wolf because they are currently “missing", then there has to be an answer to the other questions - and that you can rarely get. The normal justification for reintroducing lynx (apart from the fact that they are simply "no longer there") is that they would help control the number of deer in Britain. I have succeeded once in asking: How many lynx do you think there need to be in order to have any such impact? The answer was: About three thousand. And the man who gave that answer had really no interest in the question about the other impacts that would arise from such a population of lynx.

An area like the Pyrenees, or the Highlands of Scotland, has been populated for thousands of years and, until very recently, that population did really have to live off the land, whether by cultivating small fertile patches, or herding stock elsewhere. That history created its own diversity of scenery, and its own biodiversity within that scenery - such as hay-meadows. The stock - sheep, cattle, horses and goats - which we still see in the Pyrenees but far less in the Highlands, play their own part in shaping that landscape. I have written often enough about their contribution at the Batère to keep the foothills of Canigou clear of encroaching dense woodland, and allowing the wildflowers to flourish in the grazed grasslands, along with their attendant butterflies and birds (to say nothing of the marmots!). Actually, it could be argued that such an area, which a serious environmentalist might describe as merely “semi-natural", contains far greater biodiversity than would a purely natural woodland, even with bears.

Of course it would be wonderful if in Scotland you could train wolves only to chase deer, and in the Pyrenees the bears only to take wild boar, but the reality is that in both cases sheep make much easier targets, and farmers have as much right to earn a living as anyone else.

As a writer, I tend very much to avoid that word “iconic“; it is over-used, and I feel it should be reserved for something that is truly special. But when I get good views of an osprey, then I feel I can use it...

There is something impressive about most raptors, it is true, and the osprey is pretty big and splendid even among raptors, being, I think, larger than a common buzzard, and magnificent in its white and darkest brown plumage. What makes it so special for me, is that just as I was becoming truly conscious of the wildlife of the Scottish Highlands, (when I was about ten), the osprey hide at Loch Garten in Speyside was opened by the RSPB, in order to let the general public see these, then very rare, birds. They had been persecuted into extinction in Britain, but, despite continuing threats, particularly by then from egg-collectors, they had returned on migration and started breeding. Once the hide was open, my family started making an annual visit there, and I was well and truly hooked (perhaps an appropriate metaphor, as these birds have occasionally also been called “ fishing eagles “?!).

Accordingly, when Lesley told me recently that she had had a quick view of an osprey over the motorway, I felt rather envious, not having had a decent sighting of my favourite birds, for several years. And so, one fine day (believe it or not, before this recent return to distinctly wintry conditions, we did have some!), I did my usual coastal round trip, which I have described before. One of its main destinations is the Etang, and it was when I was strolling around its eastern shore, looking over the expanse of water, that I saw a very large bird heading straight for me. I recognised it immediately; it was an osprey, and it was flying back and forth over the shallow water, close to the Fishermen’s Huts. It did hover several times, but the water was, as ever, slightly murky in the usual breezy conditions, and sadly, I never saw it dive or catch a fish. I did, however, watch it for perhaps twenty minutes, before it departed to the other side of the Etang, where maybe it had more luck.

There were other birds in view, close by, at the same time. Prominent among them were some great crested grebes, parading back and forth, quite close to the shore. They are also wonderful creatures, and were in full summer plumage, complete with bizarre neck-ruffs and ear-tufts. But, significantly further out, there were other, smaller grebes, and, to make identification even more difficult, they were only just emerging from their winter plumage. It was clear to me that they did have a golden patch behind the eye, which both the lovely Slavonian and almost equally attractive black-necked grebes possess when in full summer plumage, that of the first being even more prominent than in the second. The black-necked are better-known this far south, although, this being the migration season, it is hard to be definitive about which will turn up where!

The unusual amount of rain threatens to turn the gravel of our “ drive “ into a meadow, and I was out one day, on my knees, trying to weed it, when I heard a call which, like that of the osprey, seems to be embedded deep in my brain. It was some kind of eagle, and when I looked up, there were two, heading north across the valley, and high in the grey sky. It was impossible to tell what they were, but they certainly seemed intent on going somewhere, like so many other birds at this season. Very recently, when the cold rain of the morning had ceased, and the temperature had risen as the wind dropped, there must have been a hatch of insects around one of our pines, as the air around it was suddenly full of martins. I am not sure what type they were, and as I was on the phone, I did not drop everything to rush out and make an identification. In any case, they did not hang around long - but it does show that, maddening as our current weather may be, it is still a very exciting season!

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